"Dummy, the guy's supposed to confess. You can't let the girl make the first move."

That day, he knelt on one knee and spoke like he meant it.

"Alex Harding, marry me."

I cried tears of joy. Three years of secret longing, finally answered. I thought he was the person I'd spend my whole life with.

Until Vivian Fox appeared.

Only then did I realize—loving someone can make you lower your standards without limit.

Vivian could carelessly destroy his favorite houseplants. She could eat snacks in his office and let crumbs scatter across the carpet.

Nathan would just frown. "What a naughty little thing."

Then he'd remind her, all indulgent, to stop watching trashy videos. He'd even put a face mask on her himself, clumsy but gentle.

Unlike me—I restrained every word, every gesture, terrified of making him uncomfortable. Terrified he'd find me disgusting.

Vivian's boundary-crossing only got worse.

Until one negotiation, Nathan bypassed me entirely and brought her instead.

When I rushed over, he was having her sign the contract—for a deal I had already closed.

I snatched the paperwork and demanded an explanation. He was angrier than I was.

"Why are you so petty? You won't even let a newcomer have one deal?"

"Nathan, she's a liberal-arts secretary. Does she know after-sales? This is a multi-billion-dollar contract. If something goes wrong, who takes the fall?"

He said one cold sentence—"I will"—and held Vivian's hand as she signed.

We didn't speak for weeks. For the first time, I wavered on this love I'd chased so long.

Then the contract fell apart. The client threatened to break it and sue for damages.

Nathan said, "Wife, help me. I really can't do this without you."

Just like that, all my doubt hardened back into certainty. I salvaged the deal, spent three months on after-sales, and kept the relationship intact.

And so the cycle began again.

Vivian added mango juice to my milk. I was hospitalized from the allergic reaction. Nathan spent the whole time comforting her—then made me reassure her it wasn't her fault.

I was two weeks pregnant. Vivian deliberately poured cleaning solution at my office doorway. I slipped. I fell.

I lost the baby.

The moment I reached for my phone to call the police, Nathan grabbed my wrist.

"Vivian's still young. You can't ruin her future over this."

"Alex, she's just immature. She made a bet with coworkers about your balance. She didn't mean it. We can have more kids."

I was furious. I screamed. I cursed. For the first time, I said the word divorce.

Nathan called my father and stepmother.

My stepmother looked me over and sneered. "A little girl played a joke on you and you throw a tantrum? You really think you're royalty? That everyone has to cater to you?"

Dad delivered the verdict. "Don't even think about divorce. The Harding family can't afford that embarrassment."

"Keep making trouble, and I'll have your mother's ashes removed from the family cemetery. Dumped in some unmarked hillside. That's what she gets for raising a jealous thing who fights over men."

I just lay there on the hospital bed, listening to them take turns cursing and threatening me.

Finally, Nathan spoke. "Alex, I've never once thought about divorcing you. From now on, I won't let Vivian pull anything again."

That day, right in front of me, he called her. He scolded her, voice sharp with anger.

Through my tears, I forgave him.

But today, that last thread of faith snapped completely.

"Nathan Floyd, I don't want you anymore."

When Nathan came home, it was already late. Vivian came with him.

She looked at me like a startled deer, all timid and fragile.

"Ms. Harding, the doctor said my tonsillitis is really severe. I might spike a fever. Mr. Floyd didn't feel right leaving me alone, so he brought me back with him."

As she spoke, her voice pitched with worry.

"Alex, please don't be mad at Mr. Floyd. If you don't want me here, I'll leave right now."

She made a show of turning toward the door.

Before I could respond, Nathan yanked her back into his arms, then fixed me with a look of pure disgust.

"Alex, don't go stirring up drama when you've got nothing better to do. Vivian is my employee—taking care of her reflects the company's values."

"If you can't tolerate her, move out. This villa is mine. You're just a guest here."

I stared at him, stunned. Every word was an ice pick to the chest.

The home I'd poured my heart into, the place I thought was my safe harbor—I was nothing but a guest in it.

My eyes burned, and I finally understood how pathetic I'd been.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself.

"If Ms. Fox wants to stay, she can stay."

I turned to head back to the bedroom.

Nathan's voice cut through behind me.

"Pack your things and move to the guest room. Vivian's alone—if she gets a fever tonight, I need to be close."

I looked at him for a long moment. Aren't you afraid of catching it? The question died on my tongue.

I just said, "Mm," grabbed a blanket, and walked to the guest room.

I packed our wedding photo and all my toiletries into a suitcase.

Old things. A newcomer would find them an eyesore anyway—no point making myself unwelcome.

An hour later, the master bedroom was spotless. I'd even vacuumed twice. Not a trace of me remained.

The moment I straightened up, I made a call.

"Ethan, come pick me up."

When I dragged my luggage downstairs, Nathan's expression shifted.

"What scene are you making now? If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back."

I checked the time. Ethan would still be a while, and I had no desire to get into it with him.

"I'm just putting my luggage in the guest room. So Secretary Fox won't feel uncomfortable seeing it."

I pulled my suitcase toward the hallway.

Behind me, Nathan went rigid. He hadn't expected me to comply so easily. For a moment, he just stood there.

Vivian's voice floated over, perfectly timed.

"Mr. Floyd, Ms. Harding is upset. Maybe I should leave after all? I'll just suffer through the night alone—as long as you two don't fight because of me."

Nathan seemed to be convincing himself.

"She gets mad all the time. Give it a couple days, she'll get over it. What's she gonna do?"

Then, as if to prove a point, he ordered me, his face dark.

"Vivian's weak. Go make her something light and nutritious—porridge with sea cucumber."

They both turned to stare at me.

I wasn't going to engage. But I also wasn't going to waste more words. I turned and went to the kitchen.

I rinsed the sea cucumber and washed the rice, tuning out their laughter in the living room.

Nathan's hand slipped under the hem of Vivian's shirt. She squirmed against him, all coy and breathless.

I set the porridge and side dishes in front of them without a word, then turned to leave.

Vivian's voice stopped me.

"Alex, wash my bra for me? I have a cold—I shouldn't touch cold water."

My nails dug into my palms. I fought the urge to slap her.

The next second, Nathan grabbed that disgusting scrap of underwear, raised his hand, and flung it into my face.

"I tell you to wash it and you make that face? Think you're some kind of princess? You're nothing but a bedwarmer the Hardings sold to me."

It was like ice water dumped over my head. All the blood in my body froze.

Twenty years of humiliation, twenty years of endurance—it all ignited into grief and fury. I grabbed the hot porridge from the table and hurled it at them.

My eyes burned. My voice shook with rage.

"Nathan Floyd, why don't you both go to hell."

Vivian clutched her face and let out a piercing scream. "It's so hot! Mr. Floyd, it hurts—am I going to be disfigured?"

The air froze. Nathan kicked my thigh, and I crashed to the floor. Shattered porcelain sliced into my palm, my arm—

He turned away, pulled Vivian into his arms, cradling her face as he blew gently on her skin. "Vivian, it's okay. I'll get you the best cosmetic specialists. Nothing will happen to you, I promise."

I watched her burrow into his chest, sobbing softly. Slowly, I pushed myself off the floor, held out the divorce papers with my blood-covered hand, and said flatly, "Nathan Floyd, you really are something."

"Let's get a divorce."

I grabbed my suitcase and strode out of the villa.

His roar chased me to the door. "Alex Harding, you assault Vivian and then dare to bring up divorce? Fine—if you've got the guts, don't ever come back. Let's see who else would protect you for a lifetime like I did."

When I stepped outside, Ethan's car had just pulled up.

The moment he saw the food stains and blood covering me, pain flashed through his eyes. "Alex, what happened? Did that bastard Nathan hurt you?"

He moved toward the villa, ready to demand answers. I caught his arm. "Ethan, let's go. Consider it payback for his help."

I pulled out my phone, deleted Nathan's number, and blocked him on WeChat and QQ.

The suffocating weight in my chest finally lifted.

Ethan took me straight to the Suburban Villa. He prepared clean clothes, called a doctor to treat my wounds.

The porcelain shards came out one by one. Blood streamed down my arm.

I clenched my teeth and stayed silent.

Ethan held me, his voice raw with guilt. "I'm sorry, Alex. It's my fault. Back then, I was too powerless to stop any of it."

Ethan Walker. Executive CEO of the Walker Group, a billion-dollar empire.

We'd been kindred spirits once—him, the oppressed illegitimate son; me, the eldest legitimate daughter abused by her stepmother.

We used to hold each other and wipe away each other's tears, encouraging, comforting.

If Nathan hadn't offered me warmth back then, if I hadn't believed he'd give me a stable home, maybe I would have ended up with Ethan instead.

But I'd thought what we had was just sibling affection.

And Ethan had two legitimate older brothers above him. He couldn't even protect himself.

Until my wedding day. He burst into my room, eyes red, and stared at me for a long moment.

"Alex, if he ever treats you badly—come find me. I'll protect you, even if it costs my life."

That was when I finally understood. Ethan loved me. He just hadn't dared to drag me down with him.

After I got married, Ethan launched his counterattack.

His eldest brother was locked up for smuggling. His second brother was exiled abroad after a scandal involving another man.

Suddenly, Ethan was the Walker family's only untainted heir.

He started from the bottom. Year one: three consecutive stock-price surges. Year two: vice president. Year four: the old man had a stroke—and Ethan became the sole president, holding all power alone.

Outsiders whispered about schemes, marveled at his iron-blooded methods in eliminating his father and brothers one by one.

Ethan just smiled calmly and paid them no attention at all.